Author: Stephanie Jones

Brooklyn Dodgers from left, Pee Wee Reese, Jackie Robinson and Preacher Roe in 1952. (Photo: AP file photo)

“(Opposing players) were abusing Reese very viciously because he was playing on the team with me … They were calling him some very vile names and every one bounced off Pee Wee and hit me like a machine-gun bullet. Pee Wee kind of sensed the sort of hopeless, dead feeling in me and came over and stood beside me for a while. He didn’t say a word but he looked over at the chaps who were yelling at me and just stared. He was standing by me, I can tell you that. Slowly the jibes died down … and then there was nothing but quiet from them. It was wonderful the way this little guy did it. I will never forget it.” – Jackie Robinson

Our cultural history is graced with goosebumps-inducing stories of white athletes supporting their black teammates in the face of racial cruelty. Some white players refused en masse to stay in segregated hotels or patronize “whites only” restaurants that refused service to their black colleagues. Some, like Pee Wee Reese, showed quiet but powerful support, sometimes just by standing next to their teammate and eloquently staring down and shaming those who tried to demean them.

Sadly, last week we saw white players on the Boston Red Sox take a different approach: They all decided to go to the White House to stand and laugh and celebrate with the man whose racial insults, stoking of divisions, and immoral neglect of the American citizens of Puerto Rico are so offensive to their black and Hispanic teammates that they could not bring themselves to participate. It is disgraceful that, when faced with the choice, not one of these white players had the courage or decency to skip that spectacle, if only to show solidarity with their teammates who felt unwelcome at the White House.

But while this divide we witnessed was higher profile than most, it is not uncommon in the new world into which we’ve descended. Many minorities in today’s America feel similar feelings of isolation and abandonment at the hands of our white friends and colleagues who’ve decided to cast their lot with a racial demagogue, regardless of what we think or say or how passionately we’ve begged them not to.

I’m a Democrat with many Republican friends and colleagues. I’ve always taken great joy and pleasure in our friendships as, I assume, have they. We’ve often had vigorous, even heated, but good-natured political debates that frequently find us reaching common ground because, in the end, we always wanted what was best for the country and each other.

Or, so I thought.

Lately, some of my friends have shocked me into a sense of betrayal. I now avoid political discussions with them, not because we might disagree, but because I fear they’ll once again remind me that they don’t truly share the principles they’ve always espoused. And knowing that they’ll again show me that they believe and are consciously and willingly doing things to actively undermine these principles fills me with dread, frustration, and sadness.

I stay away from these discussions because I am too tempted to risk rupturing our increasingly fragile friendships by speaking the painful truth to them: “How can you look at me, a black woman, your friend, and tell me that, knowing that this man insults, demeans and rejects me and people like me at every opportunity, demonizes immigrants, encourages, embraces and is revered by racists and Nazis, treats women like objects, lies so consistently that we can’t keep up, spouts off like a bullying, ignorant child (in language and tone that should embarrass and disgust any decent person), is trampling the Constitution in our faces, is giving lifetime appointments to racist judges committed to undoing every principle you claim to stand for, and after seeing everything that he has shown us in the last two years, you not only don’t regret putting him in office, you still support him?”

You may not realize it, but what you’re really showing me is that some things – be it your financial interests or something else – are more important to you than my well-being, the safety and security of my community, and the principles you supposedly hold dear. You’re tacitly admitting that your expressed commitment to equality, justice and decency has limits and can be balanced out against and outweighed by other interests that you deem more important to the point that you will tolerate and give power to a belligerent, bigoted tyrant in order to attain them.

While I don’t have much in common with 20-something-year-old Major League Baseball players of color, I do share their pain. And not just me; millions of us feel the anguish that comes with watching our friends refuse to support us and unabashedly align with the very persons who are doing us harm.

On the other hand, while I wasn’t around to witness Pee Wee Reese’s quietly eloquent gesture of grace, decency, and camaraderie, I understand what it must have meant to Jackie Robinson to have his teammate step out of his comfort zone and stand by him. I wish more of my contemporaries had the courage to do the same.

The players who taunted Jackie Robinson and Pee Wee Reese 72 years ago, and the men who offered no support to them are long gone and, for the most part, lost to history. And I suspect that when we look back on these trembling times, we will find the people who should and do know better – our friends who turned their backs on us in exchange for a trip to the White House or a tax cut – will be similarly and deservedly relegated to the wrong side of history.

But we will remember and honor those who, like Pee Wee Reese, stand with their friends so that we can face down intolerance and speak up for what’s right and good, together.

“History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.” – Dr. Martin Luther King

Originally Published in the Cincinnati Enquirer

https://www.cincinnati.com/story/opinion/2019/05/17/opinion-athletes-like-pee-wee-reese-stand-against-racial-division-and-unity/3697881002/

“President Trump will not diminish my truth.” – Jennifer Willoughby

When I was a law professor, one of my colleagues stopped by my office to chat and the conversation eventually turned to trade policy. He got very worked up and began to aggressively rant about how “those goddamned Japs” were supposedly taking advantage of us. I told him that his comments were offensive, but he didn’t care and, instead kept repeating the epithet. So I ended the discussion and invited him out of my office.

As the youngest and only non-tenured faculty member, I wasn’t sure how to handle this obnoxious display of racism by a senior, tenured professor. So I shared the encounter with a tenured faculty member whom I trusted. She promised to discreetly raise the issue with the dean.

A couple of weeks later, during a faculty meeting, the dean said “I don’t want to name any names, but it’s been brought to my attention that a faculty member has complaining that a colleague used the word [gesturing with air quotes] Jap.”

My heart skipped as I thought, “Oh, my God! I was heard! Yay!”

And then he continued:

“I want to remind everybody that we’re not the thought police. Everybody has a right to his opinion and going around whining and snitching on people behind their backs just because they said something that rubs us the wrong way undermines collegiality. I suggest that we grow up and stop trying to cause trouble.”

In other words, racism and racist language by a law professor weren’t the problem. The people who object to it are the problem. And the man who wielded enormous power over my position and future made sure that he put me on notice and on blast that, a white male faculty member had every right to spout racist views, but the women who didn’t like it had better shut up about it.

While being offended by a person’s language isn’t even in the same galaxy as being beaten by a spouse, I imagine that Jennifer Willoughby and Colbie Hodlerness, the ex-wives of disgraced former White House Staff Secretary Rob Porter, must have experienced feelings that were similar, albeit exponentially more acute than mine that day, when they heard Donald Trump blow off Porter’s reprehensible and criminal behavior:

“Oh, good! The President of the United States now knows that Rob is an abuser and he’ll finally be called out at last. Thank God!”

“Wait. What?”

Jennifer and Colbie refused to be cowed by the bully-in-chief, who used his position and pulpit to effusively praise her batterer and tacitly remind his victims and other similarly situated women that not only does he not believe them, but he sees their abuser as the victim and they as the problem who should be blamed, shamed and then told to shut up and go away.

They refused to crawl back into the shadows. Instead, they said, “Oh, HELL no!”, and then raised their voice even louder.

“I want to assure you my truth has not been diminished,” Jennifer Willoughby declared. “I own my story and now that I have been compelled to share it, I’m not willing to cover it up for anyone.

Keep speaking your truth, ladies. We hear you. You’re making a difference.

Thank you.

 

Here we go, again. A prominent man is caught behaving like a pig and women are expected to step up and lead the denunciations against him

And, in the most recent case of this – producer Harvey Weinstein – this charge is being led by many of the very people who not only looked the other way when America’s predator-in-chief bragged about his behavior, they ELECTED him President of the United States. But as sure as day follows night, they still have the nerve to name-check women – and one woman, in particular – for not “speaking up.” Never mind that just a few weeks ago, they spent considerable energy and airtime telling that particular woman her views are irrelevant, she needs to be quiet, and exit stage left. But, suddenly, they’re waiting with bated breath for her pronouncement following the earth-shattering news that that there’s sexual harassment in Hollywood.

But aside from the political posturing, the demand that women – any woman – “denounce” sexual harassment exposes the double standard and patriarchy that help to form the very foundation of sexual harassment itself

Women don’t need to be instructed by foolish talking heads and opportunistic politicians to “denounce” sexual harassment and those who inflict it on us. We spend our lives not only denouncing, but experiencing, navigating, trying to avoid and being harmed by sexual predators. But the only time folks seem to want to hear from us about it is immediately after the fact, usually when the predator is a liberal or support liberal causes, and only for a very limited period of time. Once the news cycle ends or, God forbid, we try to suggest ways to PREVENT this behavior in the future, we’re either ignored or attacked (“Are you still harping THAT?”).

And yet, despite this, we persist. But it’s time for some other folk – you know, MEN – to step up and say and do more than tapping us on the shoulder and telling us. “Wow, did you see what he did? That’s pretty bad. You better say something.”

Stop lecturing us about how we should respond to sexual predation and slamming us for deciding For ourselves when we’re going to do it. It’s time for YOU to step up and say something and, better yet, DO something about it. And if you don’t have the desire or the courage to fight with us against your brethren, then your opinion about how we choose to fight  is irrelevant, you need to be quiet, and exit stage left.

I read Dick Gregory’s book “Nigger” (yes, that’s what it’s called) when I was in 7th grade. It was deep, funny and filled with so much wisdom that I actually wrote down parts I wanted to remember in a spiral notebook. The notebook is long gone, but I still remember many of Mr. Gregory’s lessons and comments from the book.

The Dedication read: “To Mama: Wherever you are, from now on whenever you hear anyone say the word ‘Nigger,’ you’ll know they’re advertising my book.”

“If I pick up this book and call it a bicycle, is the book crazy? No, I am. So if someone calls you out of your name, they’re ignorant, not you.”

I had many opportunities over the years to spend time with Mr. Gregory and we always had some interesting conversations. He was unfailingly friendly, approachable, insightful, funny and committed – even if he sometimes went around the bend with some of his more bizarre conspiracy theories.

For example, when I was a student at Tuskegee Institute, Mr. Gregory gave a lecture to the student body and made some allegations I thought were a little weird. Afterward, I went up to him to ask him about it and we got into a good-natured back and forth. Because people were waiting to talk to him, he told me to call him at his hotel later to continue the conversation. And sure enough, 90 minutes later, I found myself in the second floor phone booth of Adams Hall women dorm arguing with Dick Gregory about whether the CIA had killed John Lennon.

Dick Gregory was a good man, a passionate activist, a tireless advocate and a keen-eyed, sharp-witted observer of human nature and the society we inhabit. I’m sad to learn of his passing, but grateful that I had the chance to engage with him. I just wish I’d told him how much I’d learned from him when it really mattered.

So, Mr. Gregory, wherever you are, please know that you were an inspiration and a teacher to me. And now you probably know which one of us was right about John Lennon.

 

 

“History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.” – Dr. Martin Luther King

Continue reading “Message to Friends Who Voted for Trump But Believe They Aren’t Bigots”

On September 11, 2001, the U.S. Capitol and House and Senate office buildings were evacuated. As we stood on New Jersey Avenue, wondering what to do or where to go next, Capitol Police suddenly ordered us to “MOVE BACK!!!” We were confused and disorderly. I went up to an officer to find out what was going on. He looked me dead in the eye and yelled, “This is NOT a DRILL. MOVE!!!”

And we moved, farther away from the Capitol. And then, farther away again, for good measure. I looked back up toward the Capitol and saw that, unlike the rest of us, the Capitol Police officers did NOT move. They stayed put, right where they had been. I thought, “Oh, my God. These guys must be scared to death!” But they still stayed right there.

Since then, I have always appreciated those men and women who stood their ground and protected us when the rest of the world seemed to be falling apart, when they didn’t know if a plane was coming for us, when they had no idea what danger they may have been in.

Today reminded me of that long-ago, but not so far-away day on the Hill. After news of the shooting at the Republican team baseball practice came through, our Capitol Police officers stayed at their posts, doing their jobs, despite knowing that two of their own had been shot while doing theirs.

And I thought of how fortunate we all are that Officers David Bailey and Crystal Griner stayed on their posts, doing their jobs, likely saving dozens of lives with their quick thinking and courage.

Griner, Bailey and their fellow officers probably haven’t created any jobs or built up great stores of wealth. But today, the Congressmen and their staffs on that field didn’t need wealthy “job creators.” They needed well-trained government employees – REAL “good guys with guns.” And, fortunately, that’s exactly what they got.

That’s why today, I thanked every Capitol Police Officer I encountered – and hope that time’s tendency to erode such feelings does not dilute my gratitude and appreciation for the men and woman who stand their posts every day just to keep us safe.

Today, I rented a pickup truck at Home Depot to haul 40 bags of mulch back to my house. When I go into the truck, I had an immediate, visceral, throwback feeling to when I was a tiny girl, riding with my Uncle Frank in his truck.

I loved riding with Uncle Frank. All of us kids did. But sometimes I got to go by myself because my cousins Francine, Vivien and Candy were busy in school. Francine was in the third grade, Candy in the first, Vivien was in “kinnygarden” (as she frequently reminded me, as if she were in college or something), and Alicia was still just a twinkle in Uncle Frank’s eye, so she hadn’t yet usurped my position as the baby cousin. But since I was in the half-day program at McGuffey Center pre-school, my afternoons were free and sometimes that meant I got to hang out with Uncle Frank.

There was no one like my Uncle Frank. He was sweet (but pretended to be gruff), smart and funny and he loved me like one of his own. He constantly teased me and always greeted me with “How ya doin’ “Stephanie Joyce WOOTEN Jones?” He could built or fix anything. New baby? Bam! The house would spring another room. Grammy needs a bathroom on the first floor? Voila! Grammy has a new bathroom on the first floor.

When I told him I didn’t like that my feet couldn’t touch the floor when I sat on the grownup furniture, he built me my very own little wooden bench so I could sit with my feet firmly on the ground (or that I could prop my feet on when I sat on the sofa). He painted it a soft pink with a glossy black top and made sure everyone knew “that’s Steffie’s bench.” I watched the Beatles’ Ed Sullivan debut and President Kennedy’s funeral on that bench …

So, I loved it when I got to spend time with Uncle Frank, especially when that meant going anywhere with him in his truck. I’d scramble in and park myself in the passenger seat, Uncle Frank would start the motor, which was really loud. Then we’d back out the driveway of the house he had built, the tires making a crunchy sound as soon as we hit the street, and off we’d go! Uncle Frank drove and I talked. And talked. And talked. And he pretended to listen.

I don’t remember where Uncle Frank and I went (other than the time he drove me to Cleveland and we stopped at McDonald’s on the way back – he said the only time I stopped talking was when I was chewing and even then I still had something to say), but I’ll never forget how it felt riding with him at that truck.

All of that came back today when I climbed into my rented pickup truck in the Home Depot parking lot. There was no crunchy sound when I pulled onto the street, but driving that truck brought back such a happy memory and filled my heart with such joy that I burst out laughing and called out, “Look, Uncle Frank! I’m driving a truck!”

And I swear I could hear him laughing right along with me.

I’m sick of repeating Rev. Niemoller’s “First they came for the Socialists but I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Socialist …” quote because it’s been quoted ad nauseum in the past year and no one seems to give a damn. Well, they SAID they give one, but then they stood by and are standing by as “they” come after Muslims, gays, women, minorities, etc. and even elected, encouraged the election and/or allowed to be elected the demagogue who promised to go after the “others” in spades. It’s a great quote, but it doesn’t seem to be changing anyone’s heart or behavior?

Instead, we need to put faces on “those people” so folks can see that this is not an abstract concept. The kind of policies 45 pushed on us in the last two days – policies he told us he was going to enact and people STILL let him come to power – are not new. They’ve been tried before and innocent people suffered and died.

Little Joachim Hirsch was one of them. He was one of 937 passengers on the St. Louis, a ship carrying Jewish refugees trying to escape the Nazis in 1939. The ship was turned away at many ports of entry – including Miami. The ship eventually had no place else to go and returned to Germany.

Joachim was later sent to Auschwitz where he was murdered.

Joachim was a little boy. He was someone’s child. He could have grown up and become someone’s husband and father and had an interesting life and fulfilling job and fun hobbies. But the Nazis murdered him because we turned our backs on him and turned him away.

That was wrong then. It is wrong now.

Today more than one little boy and little girl had their chance at a life slip away – no, SNATCHED away – by a cruel, callous and unstable demagogue, his henchpeople, his callous enablers, and his silent, frightened bitter supporters.

Joachim was not a number or a statistic or one of the nameless, faceless Jews that they came for and no one spoke up. He had a name and a family and a future that was taken away from him.

Look at this little boy’s face. Think about what “they” did to him. And then remember that “they” were US. WE turned him away. And today, WE are turning away little boys and girls just like him. WE, not THEY.

WE can stop this madness. WE must stop it. WE are better than this.

We really are.

By Stephanie Jones, NNPA Columnist

In the midst of the anger and disappointment at the acquittal of George Zimmerman in the shooting death of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin, I sought a glimmer of hope and first found it, paradoxically, in the reaction to the verdict among people of all races.  That glimmer was brightened ever-so-slightly later that week when two members of Congress – one Black, one White, one a Democrat, one a Republican – stood together in an effort to salvage the Voting Rights Act.

And then the president of the United States took to his bully pulpit and laid it on the line.

When President Obama waded into the swirl of pain and frustration unleashed by the not guilty verdict in the killing of the unarmed Black teenager, he folded his own personal experience into the mix, and then helped chart a course for moving forward together through our nation’s churning racial waters. And he reminded us that, despite the obstacles, hurdles and stumbles, despite the outrageous injustices that threaten to drag us backward, we are making progress in our journey toward racial equality and understanding . . . Read the full column at BlackPressUSA.com